NationStates

IC citizen-by-citizen/soldier-by-soldier stories that aren't sufficient for their own roleplay posts, or even retcon

4.15.19
Apparently morning?
Middle of nowhere, Timbostania

The air popped with bullets flying through the air. The blasts and explosions this was foreground to would've been deafening without Baucher's puffy earmuffs, pressing against the cold concrete. The mic pressed into his lips, yet he had nothing to say. Footsteps. Behind him. He whipped around, gun trained on his own ally. He had seen him before they even landed in the middle of nowhere, Timbostania. The airfield, maybe..

His thoughts and their greetings were interrupted by the rage of war. Narrowly, Baucher nearly released his K-SMG from his sweaty grasp, while the other soldier kept his gun firmly to his hands. A triumvirate of bullets nailed the wall, having crashed through the window he had positioned himself by. He and this Neo-Trinityian mystery man rolled to the side as Baucher prayed to the god above.

The nameless man spoke into his microphone, revealing herself as a woman. "What are you doing?"

"Praying."

She looked at him blankly before another set of bullets rattled from outside, continuing to keep them pinned. Those bullets were the only thing keeping this place bright besides their flashlights. Baucher caught on and pulled his gun upwards to his side, the flashlight facing the roof.

"We're pinned." Baucher muttered matter-a-factly.

"No shit, Sherlock. Close the distance."

As the machinegun halted it's fire into the building, Baucher headed across the floor. Timbostani guns weren't powerful enough to pull apart concrete.. or whatever this was made of. He took cover behind a new wall, looking back to his new ally and giving her a gloved thumbs up.

He angled himself to the window and spotted a pair of uniformed men, huddling at a machine gun that would've been staring right back at him.

He lightly pressed the trigger.. hesitation. He felt a glare dig into him. He still hesitated. But they didn't, letting an entire belt rip at the building, though not too accurately. They knew he was there.. just not where. He pressed hard, bullets roaring from his Kristaven and pinning the Timbostani's for once. Instead of taking cover, though, they routed, fleeing as far away as they could from that machine gun.

"Clear!"

As his voice rung out, a water bottle flew through the window. It wasn't any old bottle. It was filled with nails and dry ice, and it looked taut and opaque.

Then it exploded.